


Come Back to Me

by fourteencandles (thingsbaker)



Series: Slumber Parties [1]
Category: Entourage
Genre: Eric has kids, F/M, M/M, Not just Turtle and Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsbaker/pseuds/fourteencandles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric meets Tina at a book-signing in WeHo. He’s there stalking a script for Vince, which is how he frames it the next day. “I think we got it locked,” he says at lunch. “And I met a girl.”</p><p>Or, the one where Eric gets married (not to Vince) and has kids (not Turtle and Drama).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at Livejournal in 2008, and it was beta-read back then by dancinbutterfly. No spoilers beyond Season 3 or so.

Eric meets Tina at a book-signing in WeHo. He’s there stalking a script for Vince, which is how he frames it the next day. “I think we got it locked,” he says at lunch. “And I met a girl.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Vince looks up from his newspaper. Eric hasn’t been dating much recently — too much work, he says, which makes Vince feel a little bad but not really. Vince still has time, after all, but his standards are different. “Hot?”  
  
“Nice,” Eric says, and leaves it at that.  
  
Things turn serious fast, even for Eric. Eric brings Tina to dinner after a week, and at the end of the night both Turtle and Johnny are drooling. Vince has to agree. “She’s the best of the best,” he says, and Eric says, “You think?”  
  
“Absolutely, man,” Vince says, and hits Eric’s fist with his own.  
  
They date for a year, and Eric starts to toy with moving in together, with getting her a ring. Vince doesn’t push him either way, mostly because he likes having Eric around the house. He can’t deny Tina’s appeal, though. Tina’s hot like Sloan and ambitious like Emily, with a mouth on her that’s sweet New York barmaid and a brain that’s, well, Eric-worthy. Which is probably why Vince finds her in his kitchen, one morning, sitting at the island like she’s been waiting for him.  
  
“Morning,” he says, going straight for the coffee. Tina’s in a robe, pulled tight enough that he knows she’s not trying to be alluring. She is a little, anyway, with her long tan legs stretched out in front of her. She has brown hair, carefully highlighted to look like it’s naturally sun-kissed, and it’s tangled in loose curls around her face. Vince has to admit: hot.  
  
“Good morning, Vince.”  
  
He sets his cup down on the island. “Where’s E?”  
  
“Went for his run,” she says, and glances at the microwave clock. Eric’s on a health kick. “He’ll be back in twenty-two minutes. I wanted to talk to you.”  
  
Vince takes a sip. Please, God, no, he thinks, because if this is a proposition, he’s not only misjudged Tina, he’s not sure he has enough liquor on hand to see Eric through. “What’s up?”  
  
“I’m pregnant,” she says, and Vince swallows very, very carefully.  
  
“Congratulations?” he says. She nods, almost absently. “Um — why are you telling me? Does E know?”  
  
She shakes her head. “Not yet,” she says. She leans forward, and the robe stays closed. “You two mean a lot to each other.”  
  
He nods. “He’s my best friend,” he says.  
  
“Yeah. Here’s what I mean: I can make a life with Eric, Vince. I can do that. I can make a pretty fucking good life. Kids, house, all of it. And I will love him and I will be good to him, and this baby, it will have a real home.”  
  
Vince tips his head to the side. “You don’t have to sell me,” he says, trying to be gentle over his puzzlement.  
  
“I think I do,” she says. “Because the only way that’s going to work is if we figure a few things out right now.”  
  
“Like what, exactly?”   
  
“Like you’re in love with him,” she says, and Vince says, “Hey, wait -” but she plows right on. “He may be blind, but I’m sure as fuck not.”  
  
Vince swallows. “It’s not like that, with us,” he says.  
  
“I know,” Tina says, and her voice is almost gentle. “But he would do anything for you.”  
  
Vince picks up his coffee cup, just for something to do with his hands. He’s used to having his friendship with Eric misread; besides, Tina has a point. He would do anything for Eric, too. “What are you getting at?” he asks.  
  
“He comes home to me,” she says. “That’s my deal. You work together, you do your boys-will-be-boys act, but at the end of the day, at the end of every day, Vince, he comes back to me.”  
  
“You just want me to say, what, I won’t try and seduce E?” Vince says. “Um, deal.”  
  
She shakes her head. “I want you to say that when he decides to make his family a priority, you won’t fuck that up. You won’t play movie star martyr.”  
  
He rolls his eyes. “I would never do anything to fuck with his happiness,” Vince says. “He’s my best friend. I would never do that.”  
  
She leans forward. “I can fight you for him if you want, but at the end of that, there’s a loser.” She gives him a look that makes Vince’s neck prickle, and he realizes, fuck, she’s right. Eric would do anything for him but run out on his own kid. “This way, everybody’s happy.”  
  
Vince whirls when he hears the sliding doors open. Eric wanders in a moment later, sweaty from his run, hair standing in spikes. Tina’s face falls back to a sweet, calm mask. “Hey, baby,” Eric says, kissing her on the side of the head.  
  
“You’re back early,” she says, touching him, not afraid of the sweat.  
  
He shrugs. “Not feeling it, today. What are you doing up?”  
  
She smiles, and it’s a bright genuine smile. “I had some news, I wanted to surprise you,” she says.  
  
“Yeah?” He pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge. “What’s up? You hear back from the Sacks people?”  
  
She glances at Vince, a meaningful glance like he should leave, but Vince decides to play dumb. He needs to be here for this moment. “You get a new job, Tina?” he asks, absolutely innocent, curious.  
  
“No,” she says, and turns her full attention on Eric. “It’s different big news.”  
  
“What, then, come on,” Eric says, leaning next to Vince. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”  
  
Vince smiles at that — us, he thinks — at the same moment Tina says, “We’re pregnant.”  
  
Eric’s eyes go wide. He looks at Tina. “Wait, what? Really?” She nods, and he says, “Oh my God. Oh my fucking — I’m gonna be a dad?” He grabs her and kisses her. “Jesus, baby, that’s — when did you —”  
  
“I went to the doctor yesterday,” she says. She’s beaming, and Eric’s smiling so big that his face can barely contain it.  
  
“Yester - you should’ve told me!” he says.  
  
“You were so tired last night,” she says, and Vince knows that’s aimed at him. They were out late after filming. “I wanted it to be special.”  
  
Eric grins and looks at Vince, and Vince is glad, so fucking glad that he’s made a career out of smiling when he doesn’t feel like it. “Wow, congratulations, E!” Vince says, and Eric grabs him in a hug. “Fantastic fucking news, man,” he says.  
  
“Jesus, I’m gonna be a dad,” Eric says, pulling back.  
  
If he ever notices that Vince and Tina don’t exchange pleasantries, he doesn’t say. And they never resume their conversation, though six months later Vince throws Eric and Tina the most lavish baby shower in all of Hollywood history, for which he flies out all of Eric’s family, and he figures that’s probably the blessing Tina’s looking for. It’s true, after all; Vince won’t mess this up for Eric. Eric’s happy and he deserves it.

 

* * *

  
  
Eric and Tina get married just after the baby — a girl, Katelyn Ruth Murphy, Katelyn for Tina’s sister, Ruth for Eric’s grandmother — is born. They move into a nice house in the Hills and Eric spends half of his time on the phone with various contractors, trying to get the place in order. Katelyn is beautiful, with Eric’s Irish coloring but her mother’s dark eyes, and she and Vince get along famously. Eric brings her to the set sometimes or over to Vince’s place and Vince sits her in his lap and reads her lines from scripts in funny voices. She likes to pull his hair. Eric is great with her, tired all the time but a really fucking good dad. Just after Katelyn turns two, Eric’s son is born — Brady Vincent Murphy. Vince is his godfather and takes it very seriously. They go to the church and everything, and he wears a suit and promises this little bundle of warm, powder-smelling baby that he’ll protect him always, from everything, that he’ll be there for him like he’s been there for his dad. They take a picture after the ceremony and Vince gets it framed and sets it on his mantle.  
  
Eric’s a family man, now, and Vince keeps good on his promise to see that he goes home every night possible to Tina and the kids. They film in Greece for a few weeks and Vince goes alone because Katie gets chicken pox. He calls every evening to check on her, and gauges her illness by the exhaustion in Eric’s voice.  
  
“Anything you need, man?” Vince says.  
  
Eric’s voice is syrupy from lack of sleep. “Come home,” he says. “I need a beer.”  
  
Vince laughs, but when he hangs up he feels very far away.  
  
His life is still the same, still a bachelor, still more likely to be seen out with Turtle and Johnny than without them. He dates girls and doesn’t look too hard for one to settle down with, even though Eric tries to encourage it, even though Tina practically dares him. They have a comfortable enough relationship now — Vince sees her a few times a month, when he goes over to the house for dinner and to play with the kids. He calls them his godchildren, because Katelyn’s godfather is Tina’s brother and he sends shitty gifts on Christmas and not much else. So he spoils both kids equally and they call him “Uncle Vince” and he loves it. Loves it, loves them, loves their father, tolerates their mom. He makes movies that sell well and get him good notices, and Eric takes his ten percent home to save for private school down the line.  
  
The year Katie turns three Vince wins his Oscar, and he celebrates at seven different after parties with all three guys at his side. Turtle has a girl, now, and goes home with her, and Johnny gets lucky with his date, a former hand model, and though Vince gets a blow job in the bathroom at the Paramount party he leaves with just Eric. A limo drives them back to Vince’s place and Eric gets out, mumbles something about the couch, and Vince says, “No, no way, you gotta go home, I promised.” But the limo’s already left, and Eric’s already inside — Vince never got his key back, never wanted to — so he gives up and goes to his own bed and falls asleep.  
  
In the morning, he goes to the kitchen and finds Eric sitting at the table, holding a can of Diet Coke against his forehead.  
  
“You talk to Tina?” Vince asks.  
  
Eric nods very slowly. “She’s on her way over,” he says, and Vince isn’t sure if the desire to vomit is coming from the hangover or not.  
  
Tina walks in and shakes her head, then laughs. “You boys are a sight,” she says, and that’s it. That’s all. No claws, no questions. Vince relaxes. Maybe, he thinks, three years is enough time gone by, maybe he can be a little less careful. Maybe she finally trusts him.  
  
So he stops working so hard. When Ari wants to schedule late meetings, Vince doesn’t fight it for the sake of getting Eric home early. When there’s a junket in Toronto, Vince doesn’t pretend that he’ll be better off on his own. He starts letting Eric make his own decisions again. He starts letting Eric make his decisions, too. And things seem fine. Katie’s fourth birthday they have at Disneyland, with a gaggle of her closest little friends, and Vince rides a new water-roller coaster with her once, then with Eric, and then with Tina and nothing seems wrong. At the end of the day, Eric’s carrying Brady because he’s tired out, and Vince offers to take him and Eric smiles.  
  
“When are you gonna have some kids for me to spoil?” Eric asks, and Vince shrugs. Brady snuggles right up against his chest, his Mouse ears brushing Vince’s neck.  
  
“I have kids, who’s gonna babysit yours? Turtle?”  
  
Vince goes on location to shoot his next film — three weeks in South Carolina in August, something he could have done without. He learns to drive, finally, so that the scenes look real, and he buys the car at the end of production. Turtle’s on set with him and they drive the thing home, stopping at cheap hotels and roadside diners, and whenever he has cell service Vince calls Eric. He can tell something’s up but isn’t clear about what, just that Eric sounds tense. He thinks Eric’s worried about the road trip. “I’m an excellent driver,” Vince says, his best Rainman, and Eric laughs but not fully. Not believably.   
  
They pull in on a Sunday and go straight to Johnny’s, catch the end of a cast party, and Vince gets drunk and has to stay the night. He walks into his own house on Monday evening. Eric’s sitting on the couch, Brady curled up in his lap, the television on mute.  
  
“E?”  
  
Eric makes a shushing motion. “Katie’s asleep in my old room,” he says, and Vince nods. Eric slips away from Brady, pulling a throw blanket over him, and then gestures toward the kitchen. His eyes are wide and circled in gray.  
  
“She’s been cheating on me,” he says, his voice low, surprised and angry at the same time.  
  
Vince isn’t sure he’s heard this right. “What?”  
  
“She told me Saturday. Some guy — some other dad at Katie’s school.”  
  
“Jesus,” Vince says, and he puts his hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Are you OK? Are the kids -”  
  
“They’re fine,” Eric says. “They don’t know. I just — I didn’t know where else to go,” he says. His hands are clenched in fists. “I just packed their stuff and left. I didn’t want her to have the kids. My fucking kids, Vince,” he says, and Vince grabs him and hugs him as hard as he can.  
  
“She’s not going to get shit,” he says. “You stay here as long as you want. Your kids are your kids, they aren’t going anywhere.”  
  
Eric nods. “They, uh, they just think we’re here to see you,” he says. “I told Katie you’d take her skating.”  
  
“OK,” Vince says. “Anything you need, man.”  
  
Over the next week, Vince plays uncle harder than he’s ever done before. Eric’s a wreck, trying to deal with Tina over the phone and to keep his kids from getting suspicious, and all the while trying to get his head around the whole thing. Vince catches him crying in the kitchen on Tuesday, holding the telephone, and backs out before Brady can see. Wednesday night, Vince puts Finding Nemo in the DVD player and sets Katie and Brady up with sugar-free fruit punch and cookies and pays Ari’s nanny $1,000 to watch them for the night, then he takes Eric to Johnny’s and gets him drunk until the crying starts again.   
  
“Why would she do this?” he asks, head hanging over a glass of whiskey. “What the fuck went wrong?”  
  
Vince has ideas, but he keeps them to himself. “Nothing, bro,” he says, rubbing Eric’s back. “This isn’t your fault.”  
  
Because he doesn’t want the kids to see Eric messed up, they stay at Johnny’s for the night and fall asleep in the guest room together. In the morning, Eric throws up and then takes a shower, and when he gets out he walks into the kitchen and puts his arm around Vince’s shoulders. “Thanks, man,” he says, and Vince nods and pats his still-damp back.  
  
“Do you know what you’re going to do?” Vince asks at breakfast.  
  
Eric shrugs. “I gotta talk to her, still,” he says, and looks very grim at the prospect. “Think of the kids, all that.”  
  
Vince nods. “You know, you guys can stay with me as long as you need,” he says.  
  
Eric smiles wearily. “The nice part of this is, the kids really do think it’s a vacation.”  
  
The next week, Eric negotiates a lunch with Tina and Vince takes Katie and Brady to the zoo, meeting Turtle there. When they get back, Tina’s Mercedes is parked in front of Vince’s house, and he nearly puts Eric’s kids back in the car. But Katie yelps, “Mommy!” and goes flying through the front door, so Vince follows, carrying Brady and the huge stuffed monkey he requested.  
  
Eric and Tina are sitting together on the couch, and Vince’s stomach turns. He’d never even considered reconciliation. Brady squirms and Vince lets him down, and he runs over and wraps his arms around Eric’s legs. Eric hefts him up, and Vince carries the monkey over, and he feels angry and sad and really disappointed.  
  
“Another monkey?” Eric asks, looking at Brady. “Where’s that one gonna go?”  
  
“New room!” Brady says, and Eric looks up at Vince.  
  
Vince shrugs. He might have told Brady he’d have plenty of space to store it at his house, but Eric doesn’t need to hear that conversation rehashed. “He just said he wanted it,” he says.  
  
Eric nods. He clears his throat. “Brady, Katie, there’s something Mom and I want to talk to you about, OK?”  
  
Vince backs out of the room, but doesn’t go far. He listens to the words he heard himself, as a kid, a thousand years ago, and though Eric and Tina are infinitely kinder — “Of course we still love each other, sweetie,” Tina answers Katie’s question, “but just not in the same way” — the results are the same. Vince feels bad for wishing for this; he remembers the hurt of his parents going their separate ways, though in his case there was no kind sit down, just his mother saying, “Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking two-timing bastard!”  
  
“Do we live with Uncle Vince now?” Katie asks.  
  
“No,” Tina says, instantly.  
  
“Sometimes,” Eric says. “For right now, when you’re with Daddy, we might stay here. Would that be OK?”  
  
“Monkey!” Brady says. “I like my monkey.”  
  
“Katelyn?”  
  
“I don’t care,” she says, and Vince tries not to be hurt.  
  
He gets the details from Eric later that night. They’re each going to do four days at a time with the kids, just trading back and forth. “Did you get your lawyer involved?” Vince asks. “What if she takes them across the state line or something?”  
  
“Yeah, I called,” he says. “Everything’s underway.” He shakes his head. “I’ll be divorced before our fifth anniversary, how’s that?”  
  
“I’m so sorry, E,” Vince says. He is, actually, sorry, because Eric is taking it so fucking hard. Vince can see all kinds of questions in his eyes, about why she did it, why this is happening. He tells Eric as many ways as he can that it wasn’t his fault, and the guys agree — the guys, in fact, are more vocal about Tina’s faults than Vince can be. Maybe he’s free of her, now, but he doesn’t feel like he can kick in. Not while Eric’s so raw, not while he’s questioning his own judgment so much. So instead he just reminds Eric whenever he can that he’s a good dad, that he’s a good man, that everything’s going to be fine.  
  
The divorce drags out. Tina’s lawyer wants more money than Eric can really afford, particularly considering she has a job and he’s going to have the kids as much as she will. Vince offers just to pay her off, but Eric shakes his head and points out that if Tina’s lawyer gets the idea there’s that kind of money to be tapped he’ll be totally fucked.  
  
A sheaf of papers gets delivered on a Thursday morning, about a month into the whole thing, and Eric holes up in his room for a while making calls. When he comes back out, he says, “I think it’s probably time for me to get my own place.”  
  
Vince flinches. He likes having Eric around, and the kids; it’s like old times, only with an earlier curfew and a lot more cookies. “Should you be spending money with the settlement pending?” he asks.  
  
Eric shrugs. “I don’t have a lot of choice.”  
  
“Sure you do,” Vince says. “Stay here.”  
  
Eric shakes his head. “I can’t.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“There’s — she’s going to use you in the divorce,” he says, rubbing his neck, looking down.  
  
“Use me how?” Vince asks, and then suddenly he can guess.  
  
“My lawyer says they’re maybe going to allege something’s going on,” Eric mutters. He points from Vince to himself.  
  
“That fucking bitch,” Vince says. He feels all the venom of the past month building. “She’s gonna take your friends, too, is that what this is?”  
  
Eric shrugs. He just looks fucking drained. “It’s kind of brilliant,” he says.  "She knows what that could do, if that got out.  She knows I'll settle, I'll give her just about anything, to keep from --" He stops and stares at the counter.  
  
Vince feels like his head is going to explode from the inside out, like it’s already starting. “E,” he starts, but there’s just nothing to say.  He can't even touch Eric right now, can't think of any way to comfort him.  
  
There’s a honk outside that means the kids have arrived. Vince walks out with Eric to see them, watches Tina unload Brady from his car seat. Eric’s jaw is clicking with tension, and when Tina says, “Eric, Katie has a dentist’s appointment tomorrow afternoon, don’t forget,” he shakes his head. He takes the kids’ hands and walks them back into the house, and Vince is left standing in the driveway, looking at the small suitcases that the kids bring back and forth between places. Tina hands him a stuffed monkey.  
  
“You’re a piece of work,” Vince says. “You know nothing’s -”  
  
“Do I?” she says. “He comes running to you, I’m supposed to think that’s just friendly, Vince?”  
  
“You’re right,” Vince says. “He shouldn’t have gone anywhere. He should’ve kicked your ass to the curb.”  
  
She sighs. “I’m not talking about this with you,” she says.  
  
“We had a deal,” Vince says. “And you’re breaking his fucking heart with this stuff.”  
  
“Yeah,” she says, shaking her head, “we had a deal. And I thought I could live with that.” She gets in her car. “Remind him about the dentist,” she says out the window, then drives away.  
  
Vince walks back inside, where Eric’s watching the kids color pages out of books by the dining table. He looks like he could grind glass with his teeth. Brady claps his hand for the monkey, and Vince hands it over. “You OK?” he asks.  
  
“Fine,” Eric says.   
  
Vince nods. They never talk about Tina in front of the kids, because Eric really is a good dad. Vince doubts Tina is as considerate. He looks at the kids, then says, “I’m gonna step out for a bit.”  
  
Eric just nods.  
  
Vince walks out to the pool, to the far end, which is where he and Eric go if they need to talk without little ears around. Both kids have been warned in 800 different ways to stay away from the pool without an adult present, and Vince had special locks installed on all the outside doors to make things perfectly safe. Still, he keeps his eyes on the house as he picks up his phone and dials Ari’s number.  
  
“It’s the golden boy himself?” Ari says. “Jesus, am I getting fired again?”  
  
“You need to make E’s divorce go away,” Vince says.  
  
“I don’t have magical love powers,” Ari says. “Short of making E a better fucking husband -”  
  
“Hey,” Vince says, and Ari stops. “I’m serious. She’s gonna say he was cheating on her with me. You want to see that in court?”  
  
Ari pauses, and Vince can almost hear him goggling. “Is it true?”  
  
“No,” Vince says, then, “Does it matter? It’s gonna look pretty fucking convincing.”  
  
“OK,” Ari says, slowly at first, then with conviction. “OK. Yeah. I’ll see what can be done.”  
  
“Call in anything I have,” Vince says. “Any favor, anybody who wants a favor. Play the game any way you have to, Ari. Bring out the fucking heavy artillery, I don’t care, but kill it fast and kill it quiet. I will show up at a goddamned birthday party in Omaha, I will do somebody’s kid’s middle school video project. Anything.”  
  
“I’m on it.” Ari hangs up with a snap, though the bloodthirsty tone of his voice makes Vince feel slightly better. In his time in Hollywood, he’s never really called in a marker, not like this. He’s squirreled around to play a few parts, he’s gotten some work for Johnny, but the last time he put his full weight behind something, well, he had to sell his house.  
  
It’s the same with this. He would sell everything, he would trade in all of his favors, all of his credit, all of his star power, to make sure Eric doesn’t lose his kids. Because Vince can see the end of that, and it’s no good for anyone.  
  
Two days later, Tina’s lawyer calls a special meeting. Eric gets back and he looks dazed. “We agreed to an even split,” he says. “No haggling. No big scene in court. We’re going to do alternating weeks once the kids are back in school. No alimony, just child support.”  
  
Vince says a tiny prayer of thanks to whatever god owes Ari money. “She gets the house?”  
  
Eric nods. “But I get the car, the stocks, all of that.” He looks over. “I know it was you. I know something happened. I’m not sure I want to know yet what. But thank you.”  
  
Vince shrugs. He hasn’t seen the bill yet and he doesn’t care; it’s worth it. “So you gonna stick around, then?” he asks, afraid of sounding too eager.  
  
“Yeah, for a while,” Eric says. “If that’s cool?”  
  
He lets himself grin. “Totally cool.”


	2. Chapter 2

They stay. Vince has both of the kids’ rooms repainted and pays someone to “kid proof” the place, which means mostly putting plastic covers on the outlets and outside doors and moving everything dangerous out of reach of searching hands. On the weeks that Eric has the kids, they go to their school — they’re both enrolled at Page School in Beverly Hills, Brady in pre-K, Katie a Kindergartner, both absolutely brilliant — and then Eric’s always done with whatever they’ve got going on by four, five at the latest, so he can pick them up. He and Tina have a nanny on retainer, through an agency, who does some evening baby-sitting when they need her to, but mostly the kids are always with one parent or another. Vince spends a month on set and Eric brings the kids out some evenings, just to hang out. The craft services guys even bring out macaroni and cheese for them, and everyone agrees they’re the cutest kids in the world. When the movie is finished, Vince is back home, and on Eric’s weeks he sees a lot of the little Murphys and he likes it.  
  
One Wednesday afternoon, Vince is in the kitchen when the front door opens, and the kids race in and right past him. He watches the blur of their heads and looks up to see Eric walking in, carrying two small backpacks in one hand, yelling, “Sunscreen first, all right?”  
  
“Swimming?” Vince asks. Eric nods. He looks exhausted, which is not how Vince left him that morning. The divorce has been final now for a month, and Eric and the kids have been living with him full time for six.  
  
Eric sets the backpacks down in the corner by a collection of tiny shoes, then sets a construction paper book down on the counter. Vince reaches over. His fridge is already like an art gallery. He’s thinking of getting some of it framed for the hallway.  
  
Eric shakes his head. “They had to do little books about their families,” he says, which Vince can guess from the front. Black markered, teacher-neat handwriting spells out “KATELYN’S FAMILY” over a crayoned picture of a girl with curly red hair.  
  
“This looks good,” Vince says. “You should option it.”  
  
Eric opens the fridge and pulls out a Diet Coke. He doesn’t drink around the kids. “You make a nice cameo on page three,” he says, and Vince opens the book.  
  
The first page has a drawing of the four Murphys: Vince recognizes Eric immediately, with his spiky red hair that looks, here, like a mohawk. Behind them there’s a typical box house with a pointy roof. To the side, the teacher print says, “My family is my mommy, my daddy, me, and my brother Brady. This is the house that we all used to live in.”  
  
Vince turns the page. Another drawing: this time of Katelyn and Brady and Eric standing by a blue car, and Brady and Katelyn are waving. “Now we live part of the time with Mommy and part of the time with Daddy.”  
  
On the next page there’s a swimming pool next to a house that, Vince has to admit, looks a bit like a castle. There’s a stick-figure with wavy black hair standing by the house and tiny braided-pigtails Katelyn and Brady, with a hat, next to him. “We get to play at Uncle Vince’s house now more, because he’s Daddy’s best friend.”  
  
Vince looks up at Eric and smiles, and Eric smiles back, just a little. “This is sweet,” Vince says, and Eric nods.  
  
“Turn the page,” he says.  
  
Vince flips the page. There’s a big circular face, with curling brown hair and brown eyes. Tina. Blue tear drops stream from her eyes. “Sometimes Mommy is sad that we don’t live with her.” The next page has a similarly big picture of Eric, wearing a huge frown. “Sometimes Daddy is sad, too.”  
  
“E,” Vince says, and Eric shrugs and turns the page, away from his sad face.  
  
The final picture has six little stick figures: the kids, Eric, Vince, Tina, and another man who seems to be holding Tina’s hand — though all of the stick figures are holding hands so it’s hard to figure out the relationship. “But most of the time things are really fun!” is the last line.  
  
“Who’s this?” he asks, pointing to the guy at the end.  
  
Eric snorts. “Gary,” he says. “A doctor at Cedars-Sinai.”  
  
“That’s the guy?” Vince says. He closes the book.  
  
“Yeah, apparently he’s living in my house, now,” Eric says. “She doesn’t fucking -”  
  
“Daddy, you said the f-word!” Katelyn says, skidding into the kitchen in her hot-pink one-piece. Vince grabs her and lifts her into the air, twirling her up over his head.  
  
“I know, I’m sorry,” Eric says, “that was a bad choice.”  
  
Katelyn’s giggling, and Vince sits her on his shoulders. “Katie, I saw your book,” he says. “I liked it very much.”  
  
“I drew you!” she says, patting Vince’s head. “And your pooooool.”  
  
“You like the pool, huh?”  
  
“I do like the pool. I’m very good at swimming,” she says, and Vince watches Eric’s face light up, looking up at Katie.  
  
“You are,” he says. “My little fish. We didn’t even have a pool when we were kids, we had to walk a whole mile.”   
  
Vince laughs, because that’s not the whole story. They walked a mile and climbed a fence after dark, because no one had the money to pay admission.  
  
“Come here,” Eric says, tapping the counter top, and Vince swings her down, so Eric can spray her with the purple sunscreen they use. She has skin like his, easy to burn, so they’re always careful. Vince watches Eric’s concentration as he applies the sunscreen to both kids and he feels a warm flicker of appreciation, maybe affection, for what a good dad he’s become.   
  
The kids go outside with floaties strapped to their arms, both kids pacing around the edge of the pool while Eric goes back to put his own suit on and Vince watches them. They aren’t allowed in the water without an adult, and sometimes Vince forgets that he counts. He takes off his sandals and sits at the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in, and when Eric comes out both kids hold his hands and get in on the shallow end.  
  
Katie can swim a little, and she crawls out to the four-foot-deep water where Vince is sitting and says, “Watch me, Uncle Vince, watch me!” and bobs up and down.   
  
Vince cheers, not sure of what she’s trying to do but happy to see her smiling. “That’s real good form,” he says, and flashes her a thumbs up. “You’re born for the pool. Born swimmer.”  
  
Eric holds Brady up while Brady kicks and makes motorboat sounds, skimming across the water with his dad’s help. After a while, Katie starts directing Brady in a complicated baseball-like game where she throws a ball at him and then has to run across the full width of the pool. Eric wades over and stands against the side next to Vince’s feet.  
  
“Your kids, man,” Vince says, and Eric grins but doesn’t take his eyes off of them.  
  
“They’re something, huh?”  
  
“They’re amazing,” Vince says. Eric shifts a little, leans his back against the tile and his shoulder brushes right against Vince’s knee. Vince feels a tingle that’s more than friendly and jerks back. Eric turns toward him, but at the same time there’s a splash and then Brady wails, and Vince hops up at the same time that Eric says, “Hey, knock it off!” in his sharp father voice.  
  
“I’ll get a towel,” Vince says, and he walks back to the house as quick as he can. He stands inside the door and uses his absolute, fail-safe, hard-on killer thought: Marcy Spencer throwing up on the merry-go-round, in third grade, while Vince was pushing, his mouth —- yep, that does it. He grabs two fluffy orange beach towels, both with pictures of tigers on the front, and carries them out to the pool. Brady’s sniffling on one chair, Katelyn looking defiant on the other while Eric talks sharply to her, something about not hitting.  
  
Vince wraps a tiger towel around Brady’s shoulders. “Come on, kiddo,” he says. His hand on Brady’s back looks huge, bigger still when Brady gets up and holds up his tiny hand for Vince. “You wanna help me order some pizza?”  
  
Brady nods, and he’s still sniffling, so Vince lifts him up and settles him on one hip, even though it means getting his shirt wet. He’s getting heavy, now, probably too big to carry around, but Vince doesn’t mind. It’s easier than the weights his trainer’s been pushing.  
  
He sits Brady on the counter and grabs the phone, lets him dial and is encouraging him to talk to the pizza guy when Eric walks in, leading Katelyn by the hand. “Hey, what are we doing?”  
  
“Are you talking to Mommy?” Katelyn asks.  
  
“Pizza,” Vince says.  
  
“I want to talk!”  
  
They spend the rest of the evening basically trying to get the kids both showered, fed, and to bed without starting any new fights. The pizza comes with olives on it, which Brady won’t eat, so Vince nukes an old frozen macaroni and cheese dinner for him and sits in the kitchen with him to eat. Katelyn’s full of energy and runs Eric through most of the house, avoiding getting her pajamas on. She finally goes to sleep after Vince reads her  _Rainbow Fish_  twice, while Brady gets a bath and Eric puts him to bed. Once they’re both out, Vince grabs two beers from the fridge and holds them up like treats in front of Eric’s face as he walks out of the bathroom.  
  
“SportsCenter,” he says, and leads Eric down the hall to his own room. They watch TV in there sometimes after the kids go to sleep because the TV in the living room pipes bass right through the walls into Brady’s room. Eric falls back onto Vince’s bed with a groan.  
  
“Why did I ever have sex?” he mutters. “What the fuck was I thinking?”  
  
Vince laughs and sits beside him, rests the cold beer against Eric’s neck until he reaches up and grabs it and turns around.  
  
“It was good thinking,” Vince says. “Fucking handfuls, but man.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Eric says. He leans against the headboard next to Vince and opens his beer. “I know.” He rubs his face. “Christ, welcome to the next eighteen years, I guess.”  
  
“Fifteen,” Vince says. “Unless you’re gonna make Brady commute to Harvard.”  
  
“Harvard? What the fuck?” Eric grins. “Jesus, we barely made it through high school.”  
  
“Every generation does better,” Vince says, and when he holds out his hand, Eric hits it loosely. It’s what Eric’s father used to say to both of them. “Plus, you went to some college. And we turned out fine.”  
  
Eric snorts. “So my kids are gonna be millionaires.”  
  
“Billionaires,” Vince says, his shoulder against Eric’s.  
  
“Sounds good,” Eric says. “I can retire.”  
  
“Yeah, your job’s pretty tough,” he says.   
  
“My boss is a dick.”   
  
“I’ve heard that,” Vince says. “I think I read that.”  
  
“Yeah, total fucking prick.” Eric takes a drink. “Just an empty shirt, basically. You know I taught that guy how to act?”  
  
“Act like you?” Vince says. “Like a dick?”  
  
“Exactly,” Eric says, and he clinks Vince’s bottle with his. “Seriously, man, thank you. Thank you -”  
  
“Shut up,” Vince says. “Unless you’re telling me thanks for the beer, because that took a lot of effort. I ordered these groceries myself.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
Vince shrugs. He thinks that’s true. He may have just asked Johnny to pick up some drinks.   
  
Eric takes a sip from his bottle. His head lolls back against the headboard, and Vince can see his eyes are barely open. “You know things are going OK,” Vince says. “Right, E?”  
  
He shrugs. “It’s a lot,” he says. “You know, man? It’s just a lot. Dealing with the kids, and the stuff we got going on, and — “ He stops, and Vince looks over. Eric looks so fucking tired. “I’m not twenty-five anymore, Vince.”  
  
Vince smiles. It’s the only thing he knows to do. “You’re not in the home, yet,” he says. “Man, maybe, you know, you need a night off. You need to get laid.”  
  
Eric snorts. “That’s what got me into this mess in the first place,” he said. He shakes his head. “Your solution to everything.”  
  
“It works, though, doesn’t it?”  
  
“I can’t even remember,” Eric says.   
  
Vince finishes his beer quickly and sets the empty on the bedside stand. “You want another?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah, all right.”  
  
Vince goes to the kitchen. He thinks about Marcy Spencer and stands in front of the open refrigerator until he’s shivering. Then he goes upstairs and looks in on both of the kids, pulls the blanket up around Brady a little tighter. He picks up the beers on his way back walks back to his bedroom.  
  
Eric’s already crashed out with his head on Vince’s pillow, the beer — not even half-empty — clutched loosely in his hand.  
  
Vince stands in the doorway, and it takes him a second to realize he’s probably got the dopiest of all grins on his face. He washes that away with one of the beers, then takes off his shirt, brushes his teeth, and gets into bed beside Eric. He’s not really tired, so he sits there and drinks the rest of Eric’s beer, then watches ESPN for a while. When Eric snuffles and rolls over, Vince freezes, but Eric doesn’t wake up, just seems a little restless. So Vince puts his hand down, strokes Eric’s hair a little, and Eric calms down and his breathing evens out again. Poor guy, he’s been sleeping light for the last six months, Vince figures, worrying about whether one kid or another is going to need him, worrying about what Tina’s going to say at the next divorce meeting, all of that on top of the shit that Vince and Ari put him through.  
  
Vince finishes that beer, turns off the TV, and lays down. Eric starts to stir again, so Vince puts his hand back in Eric’s hair, rubs his neck just a little. It’s OK to do that, he figures, because Eric needs to relax. And when Eric stretches his arm across Vince’s chest, Vince rubs his back and says, “Relax.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“It’s all right,” Vince says, knowing Eric isn’t really awake, glad for it. “Just relax.”  
  
Eric nods. His head tucks in right under Vince’s arm, and that’s how Vince falls asleep.  
  
He wakes with a start to Eric still pressed up against him, Eric murmuring something in his sleep and rubbing his hand across Vince’s belly. It takes Vince about five seconds to realize that Eric has no idea who’s beside him: he could be Tina; he could be anyone. It takes him another five seconds to decide that doesn’t matter. It’s been at least six months since Eric had even a warm body beside him in a bed, and God knows how long it’s been since anyone wanted to touch him. Vince wants to touch him. Vince has wanted to touch him for years. He puts his hand on Eric’s hip and urges him forward, just a little. Eric’s a little hard, not completely, yet, but close enough. Vince scoots himself a little closer, tips up on his side, so that Eric’s arm is still draped over his waist but now they’re facing each other. The flutter behind Eric’s eyelids is becoming more certain. Vince knows he has to move before the eyes open for good. He slides his hand into Eric’s pants, gently, just the tips of his fingers underneath the elastic band of Eric’s boxers, then pulls himself in closer, so that his thigh is in perfect position.  
  
Eric’s eyes open. “What?” he says, and licks his lips.  
  
“Just relax,” Vince says. His knuckles brush the wiry trail of hair leading down from Eric’s navel. “All right?”  
  
“Vin?”  
  
“Shh,” Vince says, and when his fingers finally touch Eric’s cock Eric’s eyes snap open.  
  
“Vince,” he says, his voice deep and suddenly certain.  
  
“It’s OK,” Vince says, starting to stroke. Eric looks at him, and then his eyes blink slowly shut and his mouth opens. Vince wants to kiss him, but when he leans forward, Eric’s eyes close tighter and his breath hitches. So Vince just stares at Eric’s mouth, and watches the sweat bead on his neck, and listens to the fast rush of his breath. The arm that was around Vince’s waist moves, suddenly, and grips Vince’s forearm. Vince stops for a second, but Eric shakes his head, just once, and so Vince keeps going. His hand is at a bad angle, his wrist hurts and he can’t move as much as he wants, but he’s afraid to draw back at all. It turns him on, too, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He can guess his chances there. Instead, he focuses on watching Eric’s face and on the instant when it goes tight, then wonderfully, beautifully slack.  
  
Vince pulls his hand back slowly, wipes it off on the sheets between them. When Eric shows no sign of opening his eyes, Vince rolls onto his back. He concentrates on making his own breathing even.  
  
“What,” Eric says, after a moment, and Vince takes a little pleasure in the throaty quality of his voice, “was that?”  
  
“You were keeping me awake, gnashing your teeth,” Vince says. He aims for easy, for casual, for no-big-deal, and he always hits what he aims for. “You needed to relax.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Eric says, but he doesn’t sound angry or upset. Just… puzzled, maybe. And relaxed. “What time is it?”  
  
“Almost 7,” Vince says, and Eric groans.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Breakfast.”  
  
Vince sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed. He’s ready to tell Eric he’ll take care of it, that Eric can just lounge, sleep in for once, but then he hears the swift knock-knock-knock of feet across the hall. Eric lunges out of bed and into Vince’s bathroom; a second later Katelyn bursts through the unlocked door.  
  
“Uncle Vince!” she yelps, and her eyes are terribly wide. “Where’s Daddy?”  
  
“He’s, uh, he’s taking a shower.” He points to his own bathroom. “The shower in his room was broken, so he’s — in there, taking a shower,” Vince says. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”  
  
“I just couldn’t find him,” she says.  
  
Vince steps forward, trying to block the bed from her line of sight. He wonders what she can see, what she can make sense of. Did she notice Eric’s unslept-in bed? He wipes his hand again on his shorts and says, “Honey, wait outside just a second and then I’ll come make some breakfast, OK?”  
  
Katelyn nods and steps back into the hall, and Vince closes the door. He grabs a T-shirt and track pants from his dresser and slides them on, pulls on his robe, and walks into the bathroom. “Get in the shower,” he says, washing his hands.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I told her you’re in the shower,” Vince says. Eric glares at him. “What should I have said? Daddy’s hiding?”  
  
“I guess that’s better than the truth,” Eric mutters.   
  
Vince gargles some Listerine and then walks back out. Katelyn is waiting in the hallway, twirling on sock feet. “Where’s Brady?”  
  
“He’s in his room,” she says.  
  
“Well, let’s go get him, then we’ll talk about breakfast,” Vince says.  
  
He has both kids sitting at the table, eating Pop Tarts and drinking orange juice, by the time Eric walks in. He’s wearing clean clothes and his hair is still damp, and he walks in a wide arc around Vince to get to his seat at the table.  
  
“You reading the newspaper, now?” he asks Katelyn, seeing the funny pages spread out before her.   
  
Vince puts out a plate of toast, which is the other major component of his breakfast menu, and then finds butter and strawberry jam and a knife. By the time he has that all together, the coffee is brewed, so he pours a cup for himself and one for Eric. When Katelyn whines he puts a tiny splash into the bottom of a glass for her. “Let it cool, OK?” he says, taking a seat next to her.  
  
“Sugar and caffeine,” Eric says. “Uncle Vince hates your teachers, that’s what this is.”  
  
Vince rolls his eyes, but Eric isn’t looking at him. Katelyn, predictably, hates the coffee and returns promptly to her orange juice. Vince eats a piece of toast and tries to keep Brady from getting jam on everything. He’s partly successful, but Eric still has to wipe his hands and face clean before he can get down. “OK, off we go,” he says, taking both kids by the hand.  
  
“Bye, Uncle Vince!” Katelyn calls, and Brady calls the same, and then they leave.  
  
Vince stands in the hallway for a moment. He’s not sure what he expected, but something; he doesn’t even know when Eric’s coming back. Usually they talk about the day at breakfast.   
  
He takes a shower, then a swim, just for something to do, and he’s just getting out of the pool when Eric comes back. “Hey,” he says, startled. He picks up a towel. “You, uh, get them dropped off OK?”  
  
Eric nods. Vince rubs the towel through his hair and wants to go inside, but Eric’s blocking the door.  
  
“About this morning,” Eric says, and Vince shrugs.  
  
“We don’t have to -”  
  
“We do,” Eric says, and his voice is steely. “It can’t happen again. OK? Katie could have walked in that door a minute earlier, and then what would I say? As it is, on the way to school she’s telling me she’ll help me fix my shower this afternoon.” He shakes his head. “I have kids, Vince.”  
  
“I get it,” Vince says. “Look, I’m sorry, just you’ve been wound so tight -”  
  
“And you thought a pity fuck would make everything better?”  
  
“It wasn’t a pity -”  
  
“A pity handjob, then, whatever,” Eric says, and Vince steps forward and catches one of Eric’s flailing arms.  
  
“It wasn’t pity,” Vince says again, careful to look Eric right in the eye.  
  
Eric flinches. “Oh, no,” he says. He steps back and nearly trips over the lounge chair right behind him; only Vince’s hand on his arm keeps him upright, but Eric doesn’t look grateful. Instead he shakes Vince’s arm off and crosses his own. “No way. Don’t you even — after what she did, with that lawyer?”  
  
“E -” Vince starts, seeing the wild fear and anger in Eric’s eyes. “OK,” he says, backing off, his stomach suddenly tight, anxious, “just, I didn’t mean -”  
  
“You never mean,” Eric says. “Jesus fuck, Vince! I could lose my kids,” he says. “I could fucking -”  
  
“I would never do anything to mess that up for you,” Vince says. “E, you know that.”  
  
“I know you think that,” Eric says. “But at the end of the day, they come first for me. Those kids. And at the end of the day, Vince comes first for Vince.”  
  
Vince steps forward. “Knock it off,” he says, clenching his hands around his towel.  
  
“You knock it off,” Eric snaps. “You — this shit, with the puppy-dog eyes, and the cookies and milk and the good uncle act — “  
  
“Shut the fuck up, E,” Vince says. He feels something tight rolling across his shoulders; his neck feels stiff, his face feels hot.  
  
“— and the whole time, what, you’re just trying to get laid, Vince?”  
  
He’s hit people before, but it’s been years; he forgot how much it hurts. He forgot the noise of it, too, the slap of skin and the pop of knuckles. Holding his right fist in his other hand, he says, “Shut the fuck up!” and doesn’t feel any better for it.  
  
Eric dabs blood from his lip. “Yeah,” he says, and shakes his head. He walks past Vince, over the towel Vince dropped, and into the house.  
  
Vince follows him. “Hey,” he calls. “Hey! Jesus Christ, E!”  
  
Eric’s nowhere to be seen, and Vince stands in his living room, the same anger still pulsing through his shoulders, the same hurt, the same — whatever this is. He wants to hit something else, but his hand is throbbing and the only thing close by is the plasma TV. One of Brady’s monkeys, Mr. Bananas, stares up at him from the couch, little beady eyes telling him he’s acting dumb. “Fuck you,” he mutters, still cradling his hand. He’s dripping water from the pool onto the carpet.  
  
Eric thunders back down the stairs; he’s carrying two tiny suitcases and a shaving kit. The sight of the suitcases makes Vince feel like he’s been struck. “Over a handjob?” he says, and Eric snorts. “Fuck, E, look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it will never -”  
  
Eric walks straight through the house, so that the slam of the front door answers Vince. Vince grabs the doorknob — with the wrong hand, but he doesn’t care, he pulls anyway — and launches out onto the driveway. The pavement burns his bare feet. Eric’s throwing the bags into the car. “Eric, Jesus,” he says. “Where you gonna go? Where the fuck -”  
  
“A thousand fucking hotels in this town,” Eric says, dodging when Vince reaches out. “Where I should’ve gone in the first place.”  
  
“You’re gonna take the kids to a hotel?” Vince grabs the door before Eric can slam it shut. “They’ll hate that. They like it here. E, please -”  
  
Eric turns on the car. “They’ll get over it,” he says. “Lots of places have nice pools.”  
  
The door slides out of Vince’s grasp, and he watches Eric pull away. He’s not sure how long he stands in his driveway, but it feels like forever. His feet are sore when he walks back inside.  
  
Mr. Bananas is still staring at him. He stares back as he picks up the phone. “You goin’ out tonight?” he asks Turtle.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” he says. “What is tonight, Wednesday? Always go on Wednesdays. Why, you done playing Mr. Mom?”  
  
“Shut up and come get me,” Vince says.  
  
They go to a ridiculous club, someplace Turtle heard about online. There are pole dancers. Vince tries not to think about that too much. He dances a little, drinks a lot, and somehow ends up in the back of a limo making out with a girl who has on a shirt that seems to be made from tin foil. Vince takes her back to the house, fucks her in the foyer and then on the couch because he’s not going near his bedroom. After, she straightens her skirt and picks Mr. Bananas up off the floor. “I didn’t know you had a kid.”  
  
“I don’t,” Vince says, pulling the monkey away, careful to toss him so he lands with his eyes facing the corner.  
  
She sits up and grabs the tiara that Katie left on the coffee table. “So what, is this some kind of Michael Jackson bullshit?”  
  
“I do some charity work,” he says, and fucks her again to make her shut up.  
  
She’s gone by the time his phone rings in the morning. “What?” Vince mutters.  
  
“E says I gotta pick you up in fifteen,” Turtle says, sounding about as awake as Vince feels.  
  
“What?” Vince sits up on the couch. “E called you?”  
  
“It might be more like twenty,” Turtle says. “You got any coffee?”  
  
Vince hangs up, then sits up. Eric’s calling Turtle instead of him. His head feels like it’s breaking apart. He’s not even sure he gave the tin foil girl money for a cab. He slept half the night with his head on Mr. Bananas, and there’s a tiny matted patch of fur on his arm from Vince’s drool.   
  
“This is pathetic,” he says, and takes Mr. Bananas by the hand down the hall, so he can clean them both up.  
  
He showers and dresses in clean, neat jeans and a dark shirt with a collar. He picks up Mr. Bananas — newly washed and fluffed — and the tiara, gathers up some of the shoes from the entryway, and puts them all in a paper sack along with the rest of the Pop Tarts and all of the EasyMac in the cupboards. He tucks the purple sunscreen bottle in at the top, then carries the whole package out to Turtle’s car.  
  
“You bring me a present?” Turtle asks.  
  
“Please just drive,” Vince says.  
  
“I hear you, man, I’m hung over, too.” Turtle takes the curves out of the driveway pretty fast, though, and Vince grips the bag tighter. “So what’s in there?”  
  
“Pop Tarts.” Vince clears his throat. “For the kids.”  
  
“Yeah?” He pulls smoothly onto the freeway, and Vince realizes he has no idea where they’re going. “So, uh, what’s going on? I thought E was with you.”  
  
“He moved out.”  
  
“He get a place?”  
  
Vince shakes his head. “They’re gonna stay at a hotel. You fucking believe that?”  
  
Turtle glances over. “Something happen? Tina pulling more shit? Seriously, that bitch -”  
  
“No,” Vince says, “it — it’s stupid. E being E. It was time, I guess, he wanted his own place.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Turtle says. “So what happened?”  
  
Vince looks over, and Turtle meets his eye just briefly, the same look he’s been getting since they were ten, the one that says I love you, man, but you are totally busted. “I maybe came on to him,” Vince says, shifting in his seat so he can look out the window.  
  
“To E?” Vince nods, and Turtle whistles. “Man.”  
  
“Stupid, I know.”  
  
“No, I’m just surprised it took you this long.” He shakes his head. “Jesus, I’m gonna owe Drama some money.”  
  
Vince laughs. “You guys bet on when I’d hit on E? Am I that predictable?”  
  
“Not really,” Turtle says, “just you been stuck to his side since we came back from South Carolina. I been wondering if you were gonna adopt those kids or something.”  
  
“Ha,” Vince says. He holds the bag tighter.  
  
Turtle speeds up to get through a yellow light. “So, what kind of come on was this?” Vince shrugs. “We talking second base?”  
  
“I jerked him off,” Vince says. He rubs his face, feeling tired. “I can’t actually believe we’re talking about this. You have money laid on that?”  
  
“Nah, just when you’d make your move,” Turtle says. “I figured last month, around his birthday.”  
  
“And Johnny said now.”  
  
“Drama said last week. We both figured sometime when the kids weren’t around.”  
  
“Yeah,” Vince says. “Well, you’re fucking smarter than me. That’s part of what he’s pissed about. No,” he says quickly, catching Turtle’s alarmed expression, “they didn’t see anything. But they were around. Did you guess he’d freak out?”  
  
Turtle shakes his head. “I figured E was on board. Really, I figured that was part of the deal, with Tina.”  
  
Vince hears the question there. “She thought so,” he says. “Jesus, so E’s the only one who never saw this coming?”  
  
“That’s gotta chafe,” Turtle says, and Vince laughs, just a little. Maybe that’s the problem; maybe this is just Eric’s pride. “It’ll blow over,” Turtle says, and Vince nods. It has to.  
  
Vince takes the sack with him to Ari’s office. Eric is already there, sitting with legs and arms crossed in the armchair. He has a cut on his bottom lip. “Hey,” Vince says, setting the bag by the door. “Sorry I’m late.”  
  
“You’re never late,” Ari says. “You’re always right on time. People who make me money get to show up when they want. E, on the other hand, has been here way too long already.”  
  
“Cut the bullshit,” Eric says. “Did you get the film or not?”  
  
“Oh, I got it,” Ari says. “And you’re going to love this deal. E’s on as a producer, Vince, I got all your contract stuff approved, and Devon wants to shoot in Paris. That’s thirty days on location in pussy paradise, gentlemen. You can bring home another statue and a sweet little maid to dust it off for you.”  
  
Eric clears his throat. “That’s great, Ari,” he says. “But, uh, look, get me off as a producer, all right? No way I can leave my kids for that long.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, E,” Ari says. “Have you heard of a nanny? Have you heard of boarding school? Better yet, have you thought about what your kids will do when Daddy doesn’t have a job anymore? Gonna buy a nice cardboard box, maybe —”  
  
“Is it really that big of a deal?” Vince asks, and Ari’s head snaps around.  
  
“Uh - not to me,” Ari says. “But usually you won’t leave the house without E at your side. If you’re saying you don’t need him -”  
  
“I’m not saying anything,” Vince says, maybe too quickly. “But if E needs the time off, does it have to fuck this deal up?”  
  
Ari shrugs. “You know I think he’ll be just as useful from 6,000 miles away, so this is no problem for me.” He starts into a little victory dance about the payday and the concessions he won from the studio, and Vince nods in all the right places and smiles and shakes Ari’s hand at the end of the meeting. When they leave, Vince grabs the paper sack at the door and Ari says, “What’s this, you pack a lunch now? Jesus, who’s your finance guy?”  
  
“It’s for E,” Vince says, and he hands it over without looking at him. “Your kids left some stuff at my house.”  
  
“Thanks,” E says, his voice tight.  
  
“Nanny,” Ari nearly shouts. “Christ, if Vince is picking up after your kids -”  
  
“I get it, Ari, thanks,” E says. “I’ll catch you guys later, OK?”  
  
He takes off down the hallway, and Vince glances over and sees Ari looks as surprised as he does. “Lovers’ quarrel?” he asks.  
  
“He’ll get over it,” Vince says. “He’s just — touchy, with the divorce, and all?”  
  
Ari nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. He also doesn’t look like he wants to hear any more. “Tell him to call about getting your travel arranged. Devon wants everyone there at the same time.”  
  
Vince nods, and then he collects Turtle and they go down to the car. They drive home. They don’t talk about it, except when Turtle says, “Paris, seriously, that’s sick,” and Vince says, “E’s sitting this one out.” When Turtle looks at him funny, Vince looks away. “Let’s call Johnny,” he suggests.  
  
Both guys stay over because they get pretty fucked up. In the morning, Eric calls Turtle’s phone while they’re eating breakfast in the kitchen, real breakfast, because Johnny is a great damn cook. “Uh-huh,” Turtle says, looking over the table at Vince. “Yeah, that’s no problem, but don’t you want to talk to Vince?” Vince can’t hear Eric’s words but he hears the fast tinny stream of his voice. Turtle looks away, and Vince knows that’s the answer. “All right, man, see you there.”  
  
He sets the phone down between them.  
  
“We’re meeting him there,” Vince says, and Turtle nods. “He didn’t want to talk to me.”  
  
Turtle shrugs. “Look, he’ll get over it, man,” Turtle says after a minute.  
  
Vince nods. His head feels a little light. He’s angry, maybe, or he’s tired. He’s not exactly sure what the feeling is until he sees Eric at Shauna’s office that afternoon. Then it hits him: he is angry, and he’s tired, and he’s a little afraid, but over that, he’s embarrassed. He’s  _mortified_. He always figured it was just a matter of telling Eric, of bringing this thing between them to his attention. It never occurred to him that Eric might not feel the same way, that Eric might  _reject_ him. He stops in the doorway and can’t walk any further into the room. Eric’s sitting on the couch joking with Shauna about something, and he looks up and over and his gaze hardens. Vince backs out of the room.  
  
“No way,” he says, rushing down the hall, hearing Turtle hustling to catch up with him. “No fucking way.”  
  
“What?” Turtle asks. Vince hears Eric’s voice, “Hey!” behind them but he doesn’t turn. The elevator doesn’t come immediately so Vince hits the stairs, flies down and out into the garage. A valet scrambles out of the booth.  
  
“Vince, what the fuck?” Turtle says, breath coming fast, and Vince shakes his head and presses his fist to his mouth.  
  
The door bangs open behind them. “What the fuck?” Eric says.  
  
Vince doesn’t turn. “Take the meeting without me.”  
  
“I don’t -”  
  
Vince hears Eric stepping closer and so he takes a step away. “Go back upstairs,” he says. “It’s fine.”  
  
Eric’s hand clamps onto his arm, and Vince closes his eyes, just for a second. Eric’s grip is painful and somehow wonderful at the same time. “What is going on?” he asks, in a very low, people-are-looking-at-you way.  
  
Vince looks over. He has a lot of practice with close-ups, with the power of a glance, and that’s what he tries, here. He looks at Eric like he’s been wanting to look at Eric forever, like he wants him, like he needs him, like he needs more. And like he knows he isn’t going to get it. Eric flinches. Vince stares for a second longer. “Take the meeting without me, E,” Vince says, and looks away. The car pulls up, and the valet opens his door. He waits until Eric drops his hand, then he gets inside, closes the door and then his eyes, and makes Turtle drive him home.  
  


* * *

  
  
Now that he understands what’s happened — that he’s basically been broken up with — he allows himself to wallow. He spends hours on the couch, listening to baseball games and watching celebrity poker. He gets high with Turtle and drunk with Johnny. The guys take all of Vince’s calls and no one gets to visit. It turns out Eric can manage him just fine without ever seeing him. Vince starts to wonder if he’s really necessary to the process at all.  
  
But there’s France looming. Filming starts four weeks after the final deal was struck, and after spending three of those weeks in a blur of misery, Vince realizes he’s got to straighten up a little. Maybe the time away will be good. He takes a meeting with Ari when Ari calls himself to say he needs to show.   
  
Eric’s waiting in the lobby. He looks at Turtle and Johnny and they both scatter, and Vince rolls his eyes. They get into the elevator together, and Eric glances over. “Should I be worried?” Eric asks.  
  
“Not really,” Vince says. “I have other people to do that.”  
  
Eric shakes his head. “Vince,” he starts, but Vince can’t hear that sentence. Not yet.  
  
“How’re the kids?” he asks.  
  
“They’re fine,” he says. “They’re OK.” He clears his throat. “They miss you.”  
  
“You should take them by the house, while I’m gone,” Vince says. He feels very grown-up. Very big. “If you want.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
They walk down to Ari’s office together and Vince is surprised by how much he likes this, the old, comfortable feeling of being right at Eric’s side. Further proof I’m never going to get over this, he thinks, and he still takes a seat by Eric on the couch when they get to the office.  
  
Ari tells them that Vince’s co-star has pulled out, at the last minute. “Fucking rehab,” he says. “You saw that mess?” Vince nods, though he hasn’t watched the trades too closely of late. “So I need you to OK a new girl.”  
  
“Whoever E thinks,” Vince says.  
  
“Come on,” Eric says. “You’ve got to have an opinion on this.”  
  
“No one’s going to sound good,” Vince mutters, and he realizes he’s whining and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t fucking care.  
  
“What is this? You really that attached to her?” Ari asks. “Come on, she’s not that hot, plus any girl that needs that many chemicals to make it through the day -”  
  
“It’s not her,” Vince says.  
  
“Then what? What is going on?”  
  
“Nothing,” Eric says.  
  
“Yeah,” Vince agrees. “Absolutely nothing.”  
  
“Clue me in,” Ari says, “or I’m going to start killing people in alphabetical order.”  
  
Eric shrugs. “Nothing is going on,” he says, and Ari turns to Vince without even a change of expression.  
  
“I’m in love with E,” Vince says, keeping his voice perfectly even, “and he doesn’t love me back.”  
  
There’s a second of perfect silence, through which Vince can hear Eric’s jaw drop, and then Ari explodes in laughter. Vince joins in immediately. It’s not that he wants Ari to know, it’s just that he doesn’t care.  
  
“Jesus,” Ari says after a moment. “Save that shit for the big screen, man, you’re too fucking good for this.” He shakes his head and wipes his eyes. “OK, OK, joke over. Who do you want to fuck in high def?”  
  
“I like the girl from Eagle Eye,” Vince says, because that’s the only name he remembers, and Ari nods.  
  
“Michelle?” Eric says.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Eagle girl it is.” He sits behind his desk. “Have fun in France. Bring me back something that would get most people arrested at customs.”  
  
“You bet.”  
  
Vince stands up and walks out, and Eric’s a step behind him. He pauses to wait for Turtle, and he can feel Eric standing behind him, shaking his head, probably, wanting a word. Well, we can’t always get what we want, Vince thinks as Turtle stands up. Eric follows them to the garage, but he never says a word, and they get in separate cars and go their separate ways — though Vince watches Eric’s face fade away in the sideview mirror, until they turn away.  
  
He’s packing for France later that night — mostly just throwing together a bag full of CDs that he doesn’t want to be without, because it’s not like he can’t buy clothes in Paris — when he hears the house alarm beep. It doesn’t go off, which means it’s one of the guys coming by. Probably Turtle, who left a fat joint on the kitchen counter. Vince tosses _Kick_  into his bag. “You forget something?” he yells.  
  
He turns at the sound of his door being opened. Eric’s standing there, hands on his hips, frowning. He’s wearing the same button-down shirt he had on at Ari’s that afternoon, but now there’s a yellow streak over the breast pocket. Magic marker, probably. “E?” Vince says, one hand still on his bag.  
  
“I don’t ‘love you back?’” he says, making finger quotes. “What the fuck was that?”  
  
Vince sighs. “You came here to fight. Of course.” He turns back to his bag. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for, I don’t know, E, whatever you want me to be sorry for. For the other morning, for today, for -”  
  
Eric grabs his shoulder, and he’s turned around, fast, and then both of Eric’s hands are on him. “Shut up,” he says, and then he leans up and kisses him. This is a kiss, Vince thinks: aggressive, fast, needy, one of Eric’s hands on his neck, holding him in place while his tongue is making its own demands. Vince pulls back and feels a little dazed, and he puts one hand on Eric’s shoulder to steady himself.  
  
“You didn’t come to fight?” Vince says, rubbing his mouth.  
  
“You weren’t just trying to get laid,” Eric says, and then pushes him back onto the bed. Vince falls over the bag with the CDs and bruises his hip, and he rolls away. Eric curses. He clears everything away, and then turns to where Vince has curled to the side. “You all right?”  
  
He wants to laugh at the clumsiness, for a moment, and then he swallows that urge and reaches toward Eric. “Yeah,” Vince says, grabbing Eric by one belt loop. “I’m good.”  
  
It’s been a few years since Vince was with a guy, and probably ten since Eric was with one, but it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter if he’d never had sex before, he thinks, because it’s Eric and things just have to work. Vince strips off his own shirt and then puts Eric’s hands on his shoulders while he unbuttons Eric’s shirt, works his belt free, unzips his fly. Eric’s hard and that’s all the encouragement Vince needs; he mouths Eric’s cock through the soft cotton of his boxer shorts and Eric groans and his hand moves to Vince’s hair. His grip is light, soothing, encouraging. Vince pulls the boxers down and takes Eric’s cock in his mouth, and it’s not too weird. Eric is into it, thrusting carefully, making fabulous deep groans that make his belly flutter under one of Vince’s hands. His mouth gets the tired, stretched-out feeling he remembers, and he looks up and sees Eric looking down at him, and Eric’s eyes go wide and he comes.  
  
Vince tugs him down onto the bed, slips out of his own pants. Eric’s hand is fast; he pulls Vince tight against him, facing him like the last time they were in this bed, but this time Eric kisses him and touches him and Vince comes ridiculously fast, with his face pressed to Eric’s shoulder.  
  
“Jesus,” Eric whispers into Vince’s hair. When he can move again, Vince pushes Eric over, uses his tee shirt to clean himself up, then curls up around Eric, keeping one leg over Eric’s thighs, one arm over his chest like he might try and escape. “So, I am better relaxed,” he says, and Vince laughs.  
  
He mouths a bruise forming on Eric’s neck and says, quietly, “Where are the kids?”  
  
“At Tina’s,” Eric says. He rubs Vince’s arm, kisses his biceps. It’s sweet. Vince wonders if Eric’s always like this after sex, and he thinks probably yes. “They can’t know about this,” he says, his tone gentle. Vince pulls back, just a little, but Eric keeps his grip. “Things are pretty messed up for them, already,” he says. “And besides, it’s asking a lot of a 5 year old not to talk to her friends or her mom about something. And once Tina knows -”  
  
“Yeah,” Vince says, and he settles back onto the pillow. “I guess this means you aren’t moving back in.”  
  
“Probably not a good idea,” Eric says.   
  
“So,” Vince says, but he can’t really come up with what he wants to ask.  
  
Eric turns his head, so his face is only an inch from Vince’s. “I love you back,” he says, and Vince smiles and then kisses him.  
  


* * *

  
  
Eric and the kids come along for the drive to the airport. Eric lets Katie sit on Vince’s lap during the drive, even though she should, really, be buckled in her own seat. “And while I’m gone,” he promises her, “you can play in my pool as much as you want.”  
  
“OK,” she says, but she still seems a little sniffly. Vince wishes that didn’t make him feel kind of proud.  
  
At the airport, they get a valet to take care of the bags — Vince’s and Turtle’s — and then they walk toward the end of the small building; the chartered plane is waiting there, ready to fly them to New York to catch their plane to Paris. “Go check it out with Turtle,” Eric says, handing Brady over. “I wanna talk to Uncle Vince for a second.”  
  
Vince watches Turtle lead the kids up into the airplane, then glances over at Eric. “Time for a quickie?” Vince asks, amused.  
  
“Unless Turtle’s teaching them to fly, we don’t have near enough time for what I’m thinking,” Eric says, turning. He crosses his arms and gives Vince a warm, wry look, their shoulders just brushing. “Be good over there.”  
  
“I’ll call,” Vince says. He puts his arm around Eric’s shoulders. “All the time.”  
  
“Not after bedtime,” Eric says, but he nods and puts his hand on Vince’s back for a moment.  
  
“I wish you guys could come,” he says.  
  
“Maybe we can visit,” he says. “They’ve never been on a plane, before.”  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
Eric nods. Ahead, Turtle pokes his head out of the plane. “So go, already,” Eric says. “Make my kids some money.”  
  
Vince turns and gives him a good, solid, manly hug, and maybe he lingers a little too long but fuck it. He’s leaving for a month. If he gets a little sappy, well, Eric’s the only one who hears it.  
  
“Just come back to me, all right?” Eric says quietly, and Vince nods and pulls back.  
  
On the tarmac, he hugs both of the kids, tells them he loves them and promises them expensive souvenirs, waves again at Eric, and climbs onboard.  
  
“That’s a fine looking family you got, there,” Turtle mutters, looking out the window next to Vince.  
  
Vince glances down at Eric, holding Brady on his hip and Katelyn by the hand, and he smiles. Mr. Bananas is already strapped in to the seat next to him. “It sure as hell is.”


End file.
